mASF post by "GoneSavage"
posted on: mASF forum: Field Reports Discussion, August 8, 2005I just ended an eight day new-girl streak with THREE dramatic losses in the
same day. I actually have five diverse and unique LRs that I could/should
write. But I find myself instead thinking about these three losses of Friday,
August 5th…
Once upon a time, I was thinking about making a list of my top five or ten
misses on the PUA tour. These are girls that were exceptionally beautiful that
shared a great time with me that I then lost for whatever reason. As an
artist, I always wonder what I could have done differently. Anyway, the losses
I have experienced in Montreal alone would dominate the list. Damn I have lost
some dazzling and dynamic women, that just seemed sure-to-bone. Oh well.
Note: This post is heavy laden with actual real-life emails from my girls,
because that’s how I like to document things. These emails should help you see
the effect that I have on women (both in gaining and losing). Interpret at
your own risk.
Friday Girl #1:
First I had a date at noon. This girl I had met two weeks prior. Street
PU—contact close. I flaked on our first Day2 attempt. I apologized in an
email and suggested that I come to her area of town so she wouldn’t have to
invest resources to meet if she felt like I might flake again. She said she
still wanted to meet, and the emails showed that she was still intrigued.
Yesterday was the earliest we could have gotten together. Her email to me
after my flake, shows how not showing up, although largely unintentional,
served to increase interest:
”It’s 11h06, I’m back from my travel to the Vieux Port...I feel like I’ve lived
a whole day since 7 this morning.....I don’t know how I should feel, sad or mad
or stupid.... I feel strange.... So many questions are bursting in my head!
Where should I have been? Were you late, lost, dead, kidnapped, asleep, in
front of another statue...? Were you waiting for me somewhere else? And where
was this "somewhere else"?
I waited 30 minutes, then I started walking, drawing squares around the Place
Jacques-Cartier and the Bonsecours market searching for the somewhere else,
searching for the other statue.....I was waiting in front of Nelson's statue,
on the Jacques Cartier Place. The Old Montréal was beautiful under the light of
the morning sun, but I was alone and I felt lost....Why was this meant to
happen? Where was the somewhere else? Was it the Maisonneuve's statue in front
of a cathedral?
I’m so sorry about all that.... I feel like I’ve lived a whole life since I’ve
met you, and I really wanted to see you again. I still don't understand why was
this meant to happen, but too many times in my life I didn't know how to seize
the opportunities presented to me, and while I was waiting, I thought "Well,
when you fall off the horse you have to hop back on....".... I think that it is
not too late to try again....Well, tell me if you still have the time to visit
the city and take some pictures....”
So we finally coordinate plans to meet again. She’s at the meeting spot and
I’m actually on time. We walk the Old Port and talk. (BTW, she’s another
Quebecois and her English isn’t the greatest.) She reveals a few things. She
says she’s been apprehensive about meeting me again. For one thing, she
couldn’t remember exactly what I looked like. She described how she dreams of
her ideal man, but his face is always a blur, just like my face in her memory.
She also talks about how she was thinking I was part of the Mafia because she
thought I was smooth in dealing with people and I got her comfort and
fascination very easily. She wondered if I was going to kidnap her and sell
her into slavery. I laugh and play along with this exaggerated scenario while
addressing the real concern at hand.
We climb this twelve story fire escape and take pictures of the port. (She’s a
photography student, age 18.) From here we have great views and share our
first kiss. I talk about sensuality and passion and give the Sensuality Test.
She’s actually quite thoughtful about it and came up with questions of her own.
What’s more sensual…silence or conversation? (I choose silence and riff on
themes of how nonverbal communication trumps verbal and how sensual it is to
just look into someone’s eyes or give them a glance or a smile.) She had
another good question that I wish I could remember.
I assuage all her concerns. I reframe everything as being cooperative and
mutual. And beautiful and passionate. Even if I am here for such a short
time, I have only to offer honesty and respect and magical experiences. She’s
very comfortable with me. I tell her that she’s hijacked my brain. I show her
some massage techniques. We proceed to make out way up on this fire escape.
The scene is exciting for us both. There are literally like a thousand people
beneath us and curtain-less windows on all the skyscrapers surrounding us.
There are people milling about in the office behind us that leads to the
escape. I’m sucking on her breasts and rubbing her crotch. “We have to stop,
we’re going to get arrested.” There are a lot of cops beneath us and people
absolutely everywhere. Just making out, I am sure we had an audience. I
considered it very likely that we would get arrested as we would be trapped on
the escape and even without fucking, we were still trespassing. Maybe if she
had a skit on, we could have…
So let’s find somewhere else. I think I can get here to the van, which is
about a twenty minute walk to the Metro and a thirty minute train ride. But
she tells me she has to be at work soon. She tells me her schedule and we make
plans to meet early the next day. We have a little bit of time to spend
together still and I walk her to the clock tower and I’m looking for a place we
could really do something. I don’t know the area, and there are people
absolutely everywhere.
I take her to this slightly sheltered area of the park behind some shrubbery.
We make out and I’ve got my hand down her jeans. I’m finger banging her and
she’s loving it. She’s stroking my dick and I pull it out for her. I convince
her to “kiss it” but she barely puts her lips on it. She keeps looking around
and I tell her to close her eyes and enjoy the feeling and I will keep watch on
the surrounding. Sure enough, some fucker is watching us. And he’s walking
closer. I take my hand out of her pants, put my dick away, and we turn away as
he passes. I try to get her worked up again, but now it’s all about how she’s
late for work. We laugh together as we walk to the subway. I remind her about
our meet in the morning and she vacillates. I know I’ve lost her.
The next time I check my email, it is confirmed:
”I won’t be there tomorrow. I realize that my life needs a plan. In order of
importance, Love is in first, followed by Pleasure, and then Sex. Yeah, I just
realized that love is in first, even if it brings me expectations. I prefer to
dream and to learn from my errors, than not dreaming at all. Life is short, we
should follow our dreams, and mine is to do the right things, when I feel it’s
the right time to do them. If I want to feel comfortable, even if I do feel
comfortable with you, I won’t come tomorrow.”
Friday Girl #2
I was set to meet my second girl at 6PM. This would be our Day3. We met at a
bar among her friends and we shared great conversation and an amazing kiss.
She’s 20 and studies fashion design. Day2 we walked around the Old Port and
the clock tower. I told her that her expectations should be to enjoy the
moment and the magic I can provide and that we should not expect any sense of
future. She’s cool and tells me that she just ended a relationship and has no
expectations, just to have fun and see where things go. I do my sensual
qualifying and find her energy to match my own. I also love how she can
verbally spar with me and we’re teasing each other seductively. This one is
going to be amazing—beautiful Italian baby. After a great time, we both have
places to be. Mine is another date, and I’m honest about it. We exchange some
more passionate kisses and embraces and then depart. If it didn’t seem solid
enough already, she sends me this email:
”Hey, how did your date go? Got home a while ago. Had to take care of some
things, now I'm writing to you. Thanks a lot for everything. You really opened
my eyes to a lot of things. You really made me see things in a different way.
Well, we have to get together again. Maybe Friday. There is this fashion show
that my friend is doing the make up for so maybe we could go see if your going
to be around and don't have a date that night. Let me know, it would be nice to
see you again.”
So, I show up for our second time out. We embrace. We kiss. The physical
intimacy is still there. We walk and hold hands and things feel nice. I try
to lead her to the lingerie and sex toy shop, but she doesn’t want to go in.
Cool, no pressure. I ask about this fashion show and we Metro to the Jean
Drapeau island where it is being held. I was telling her to notice how envious
people look when they see us together. Turns out it is $15 per person and we
skip it. We hold each other and talk intimately next to a fountain.
The only other thing worth mentioning is that she kept talking about her
ex-boyfriend and how this and that reminded her of him. I said something about
being in the present and enjoying the opportunities right before us. What is
this moment lacking? Nothing. Right answer. I told her I was interested in
her role as a beautiful and passionate woman and not a daughter (kept
complaining about her parents), a student (school’s about to start), a friend
(her friends told her not to see me), an ex-GF (would not shut up about her
ex-BF) or anything else. Tried my best to keep her present and positive. I
taught her how to give a hand massage and had her demonstrate what she had
learned. Also gave each other neck and shoulder massages.
Her mom calls. She lives with her parents. She’s got to go. Not much I can
do. I walk her to the Metro. She’s got tears in her eyes and she’s telling me
that she can’t be with me and she’s not ready to ‘give herself.’ I’m mostly
smiling and respectful. My artistry is intense and I’m not sure what to do in
these situations. I told the 100% perfect girl story (credit: Style). She
keeps saying, “I can’t, I can’t.” I assuredly tell her that I know what I will
be missing…wonderful times with an amazing and passionate woman. And one day
she will realize the opportunity she has missed as well. I just hope she’s not
plagued by “what ifs” and “could-have-beens.” Like I will be. We hug. I’m
out.
Just to make sure I got the message, she sends this email:
”It was a fun night. I'm sorry that I could not give you what you wanted. I was
just not able to pass that stage yet. Well, it was great meeting and getting to
know you. Good luck in your next adventure and stay in touch.”
Friday Girl #3:
I hit the street for the ongoing FrancoFolies Festival. I’m worked up. I
really hated to lose this one. And that’s two solid loses for the day! Fuck,
fuck, fuck. I’m thinking about the days earlier this week where, when I had
flakes, I always ended up pulling same-day. No problem. I hit the festival
with the determination of that character in the movie Tomcats where he’s worked
up over this chick and he says to himself “I’m going to fuck the next chick I
see.” Of course he runs into a warpig and says, “Okay…the NEXT chick I see.”
So here I am. 2sets and 3sets are opening moderately well. I don’t have time
left in the city to follow new contact closes. I have this strange sense of
urgency. I’m also very tired. I can’t explain this mood and mentality. I’m
thinking about how after I pulled 5 girls here, and I had one week left and I
told myself that it was going to be my goal to pull 5 more. 5 more in one
week. Who can do this? And they all came…one after another. So here I am at
ten. Who does this? Can I actually do 11? 12? Gotta get out of
here…Sunday…Monday at the very latest. I’m thinking about how the SDL with the
sexy Mexican girl on Thursday actually fucked up my karma. Like that was
ten—okay, goal met—like the universe didn’t want me to have the fire escape
girl and the Italian girl too. Even though they probably needed me the most.
Just wasn’t meant to be. So here I am with this weird mood and this weird
determination and I’m going for number eleven.
And then I see her. Holy shit what a beauty. Another Latina. Long beautiful
blackish reddish curlyish hair. Expressive eyes. Incredible figure. She’s
wearing this dress with a singular wrap-around image. Very retro. Very go-go.
She’s got these badass black boots with zippers all over them. Me likes.
Is she actually alone? Who cares. I approach and I get her smiling. She is
alone. The group ends at the stage near us and we head to a different stage.
We have engaging conversation and lots of laughs. I keep smiling and throw her
a lot of broken Spanish, happy to deviate from all this French. Turns out she
is from Chile and she is 26. (I am 26, and the Mexican girl last night was
26—maybe the universe likes me after all.) We go for a walk beyond the
festival. Of course St Catherine St on a Friday night is like a festival
everywhere.
She actually suggests we get a drink. I take her to the place that
HBgraphicartist introduced me to. I ask fun qualifying questions and show her
the view from the balcony. I give her a passionate SOI and she’s entranced. I
go for the kiss, I get sidestepped and told I’m told she has a boyfriend. Back
home. Okay. So did the girl Saturday and persistence paid. I’m also thinking
about the Mexican girl from last night where directness paid off more than
anything else. I’m thinking I’ve got this one solid. I mean, it’s meant to
be—third girl for the night, third time’s the charm, right?
So I sit her down and she orders a beer. She’s a fairly accomplished film
student in Santiago. She tells me about her film projects. It sounds like her
family has some money too. Miscommunication is prevalent—language barrier.
It’s best that she talk and talk and I smile and nod, then I can talk and talk
(seductively) and she can smile and nod and bite her lip and blush and think
naughty things. And it’s going smoothly. We’re sitting with her knee between
mine. I give her the questions of the Sensuality Test. We’re giving each
other very nice hand massages and kino is all-around nice. I’m overselling my
photography and she’s interested. I tell her that if we can go to my station
for a few minutes I’ll show her these cool pictures.
We’re hand in hand, the vibe is great, and I walk her to the Metro and right
outside she gets cold feet and she’s reminding me of the boyfriend. I
know…lets’ just go look at pictures. Just pictures. It will be fun. So she’s
with me. I give her this incredible head massage for basically the whole train
ride. In transit, I tell her that my place is actually a vehicle. She’s
intrigued by the idea, as they all have been.
So we get to my van and I tell her that I am going to drive to where I can get
a network in order to check my email real quick. She can do so too. No prob.
This takes me out of the hotel parking lot and onto a residential street. A
little bit of a risk though because the cops have approached me and told me not
to return to this street.
Apparently folks had called the cops after noticing that I pull up here day
after day. Must look suspicious. The cops approached me I told them about
wifi and I was there to check email. They ran some search on my license for
like twenty minutes and just told me to find a different connection. Oh well.
But anyway, I decided to roll up on this spot again one more time.
So I boot up the computer and give her some printed photos to look at while I
check my email. There was no hesitation coming into the back and she’s got her
hand on my leg and everything is green lighted. I send her a quick playful
email. I offer to let her check her email. I show her some photos on the
computer while I play some chill music. She likes. Close computer.
I go for the kiss and I’m in. Very nice. Proceed to kiss neck and ears and
arms and legs and touch breasts. She’s not breathing heavy or otherwise
getting into it, but not stopping me either. I direct her to kiss my neck and
I put her hands on my chest. Kiss my chest, kiss here, bite there, etc. I’m
telling her that I want to taste her. I’ve got my hand under her dress and I
put her hand on my straining cock…
And that’s about it. She pushes me away. It’s abrupt. All I hear is
boyfriend, boyfriend, novio, novio, boyfriend, blah, blah. I try “juicy
secret” threads but she’s already locked. Can’t get back in for anything.
Long story short, I respectfully take her home. Keep the ride upbeat and
playful for whatever its worth. You know, not being a pouty sore-ass. We
smile and kiss when I drop her off. She has my email just in case she has
anything to say. Damn.
Three solid losses the same day. Feedback?
Love life. GoneSavage
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